I was tooling around the internet marveling at how competitive the big retailers had become when Wilson ducked into my office.
“Got a second?” he asked.
“You just used it,” I said, puzzling over which online operation was worthy of my purchase.
Wilson sat down and said, “We need to talk about Stephens.”
I ignored the remark and was set to order from Target if I could confirm shipping was free.
It was late, after eleven when I heard giggling coming from the kitchen. Being the curious sort I went downstairs, tiptoeing through the hallway and stood just outside the entrance to the room and listened.
There was another burst of chuckles. It was Terri, and I immediately assumed she had a bit too much wine. I peered into the kitchen to see her at the table, watching something on her computer. She was smiling, the kind of smile you have when you’re having a nice, relaxing time.
It was a simple enough task and one I felt even I could handle. Head to the local paint store and pick up a gallon of white paint. Apparently Terri had spotted little areas of the downstairs powder room that needed touching up.
Generally speaking, any task that starts off as merely a “touching up” inevitably morphs into a multi-hour, possibly multi-day project. But this one seemed about as simple as it gets, and I had confidence I could knock it out and be home in plenty of time for a Saturday afternoon nap.
Asleep on the couch, a glorious Sunday afternoon nap to be followed by a socially-distant cookout at the Wald’s place a few blocks over. It doesn’t get a whole lot better, especially during the stress and strain of the pandemic.
I was drifting off into that nice in-between place just before the deep sleep kicks in when I heard a distant buzzing. Maybe a fly had slipped inside. It wasn’t exactly peak season for house flies, but whatever it was, it could wait. When I got up I would tackle the pest it if still insisted on visiting.